Misconceptions Series
by cherrymelle
Summary: YAOI CRACK or why petpeeves aren't necessarily bad things. A nice way to deal with all those absurd misconceptions that makes no sense whatsoever in fanfics but still have me laughing myself silly. Various pairings, check the ratings for each part.
1. About Girth

I began a new series of drabbles called "Misconceptions". They are written to make fun of some questionable things often found in fanfics that amuse me. I am the first one to be gullible of those usual misconceptions so don't take it at heart. That's crack. I have much more to be written about but if you have your own misconceptions to suggest, I'd be happy to write about them for you. They can be about FMA in particular, about yaoi or even about fanfics in general. The sillier, the better.

TITLE: **Misconceptions About Girth**

FANDOM: Fullmetal Alchemist

PAIRING: Scar/Al

GENRE: Crack, PWP

RATING: NC-17

WARNING: Pr0n, spoilers about Scar

DISCLAIMER: Nor Fullmetal nor its characters are mine, no money is being made here so don't sue or whatever.

SUMMARY: Al loves Scar's hand.

Scar had very nice hands. They were tanned, strong and broad. They were mismatched like those of Ed, but as they were both flesh, the differences were much less noticeable. Alphonse himself knew it only because he spent an impressive amount of time studying them.

He was probably the only one to know that the right one, the one who used to belong to his brother had slightly longer and thinner fingers. The only one to know there was a fading scar on the left thumb, earned in a stupid accident when Scar had been a kid. For most people, the two hands looked alike and they were, somewhat.

There was quite some time now that the borrowed hand was part of the Ishbalan body, so, being subjected to the same use as the other, it had shaped in a similar way. It had become as strong as the left one. It possessed the same dexterity than the other.

Both of Scar's hands were talented and delicate in a rough way, if that made sense. Alphonse loved the way they would pet him awkwardly on the head, the way they would caress his skin tentatively, the way they would shape reverently each curves of his body, the way they would grab him possessively.

Still, what he loved most were Scar's fingers. All of the ten ones were large, wide-knuckled and yet very nimble. When they were buried deeply in Al's ass he would go wild, rendered incoherent and almost mad with pleasure. The man was always afraid to hurt him so he took the utmost care in preparing him. Alphonse was grateful for that: all the more time to enjoy those amazing fingers' invasion.

The first finger usually felt like an intrusion, kinda uncomfortable, but in the same time like a teaser for greater things to come. The second always felt like something which had been wanted, a way to soothe an achy emptiness. The third one felt like Heaven. It was only when it joined the first two that the hand was mobile enough to bury them to the hilt. Only then that Alphonse could feel really full, completed in the most mind-blowing way.

Sadly, when the third finger entered him was also the sign that the treat was almost over. Soon, Scar would take them away and replace them by his painfully hard erection. His lover's penis wasn't small by any means. It was just average, around six inches long and one inch and a half in diameter. It wasn't small no, but coming in just after the departure of three unusually thick fingers, it only could suffer from the comparison.

When it came to the actual penetration, Alphonse was already too loose to enjoy it to its fullest. He always spent the rest of their intercourses mourning the absence of the beloved trio, like bereft of something vital.

Of course he could have told his lover that two fingers were enough in order to prepare him and thus be able to appreciate the girth of the man's penis. The problem was he wasn't ready to deny himself the unbelievable feeling of these three wonderful fingers burying in him. So, he kept silent. To live was to make choices and sacrifices and Alphonse knew clearly what he didn't want to sacrifice.

_Afterwords: I don't care if this is actually accurate, it is a purposeful exaggeration. It can't be worse than reading for the umpteenth time something along the lines of: "He felt the intrusion of a much bigger thing than 3 fingers." I'm pretty sure that a good percentage of men have a penis girth smaller than their three middle fingers bunched together. For those that don't, they would have to have women hands and a severe case of elephantiasis for their penis to be **MUCH** larger than three fingers._


	2. About Morality

TITLE: **Misconceptions About Morality**

FANDOM: Fullmetal Alchemist

PAIRING: slight Roy/Ed

GENRE: Crack

RATING: PG-13

WARNING: yaoi, language, bad humor

DISCLAIMER: Fulmetal nor its characters are mine, no money is being made here so don't sue or whatever.

SUMMARY: The secret of Roy's birth is unveiled... messily.

That was by a fine Friday morning that Edward Elric found Central Headquarters in total chaos. People were running around with hunted expressions, broken sobs could be heard at every corner and there was a distinctively burnt smell floating in the corridors. The closer he got to Mustang's office the worse the foreboding feeling in his guts got.

When he finally crossed the threshold, the sight had him cringing. There was soot on every surface, heavy smoke lingered in the air in spite of all the windows being wide opened and there were an impressive number of gunshot impacts all over the walls. In the midst of the war zone, Mustang's team stood, all huddled together and looking shell-shocked. There was no hide nor hair of Roy.

"What happened here and where is the bastard?"

There was a collective gasp at his last word and they all threw a fearful glance towards the closed door of Mustang's private office. That answered his second inquiry at least, still he would like an explanation. Surely the always collected First Lieutenant Hawkeye would provide one. The problem was that, presently, Riza appeared all but collected. The usually stoic woman was deathly pale and mumbling to herself what sounded like: "the old lecher grabbed my ass.", again and again, occasionally punctuating her lament by violent shudders.

As Hawkeye looked useless, Ed glanced over the other soldiers trying to estimate their various state of nerves. Fury had red eyes and snot all over; chances were that he would break under questioning without revealing anything of importance. Havoc kept repeating something of "being two of them" while searching his pockets for seemingly missing cigarettes. There would be no forthcoming help from here either. Even the lazy indifference of Breda seemed shattered. The poor man was curled up on the floor, rocking himself soothingly with his face tightly pressed against his knees. His particular monologue being about "evil old women" and "pinching cheeks", leaving anyone to wonder if he was speaking about the "upper" cheeks or the "lower" ones. Disturbing thought indeed.

Ed's eyes finally fell on Farman who honestly looked the worse for wear. Nothing remained of his usual encompassed attitude. His uniform was rumpled and dirty, his hair stood at odd angles and appeared singed in places. Yet, all things considered, he looked like the best bet for one needing answers. At least he seemed coherent and wasn't mumbling some nonsense.

"Vato, can you tell me what happened here?"

The warrant officer cast him a blank look and took a few moments before remembering that Ed was his superior and so was granted an answer. He modified his stance to stand at attention, saluted and gave his report. In a lesser man, this cold professionalism while in such a frazzled state would have been funny; in Farman, it was expected and humbling.

"The Colonel's parents gave an impromptu visit, Sir."

"The Colonel's parents? As in his Mom and Dad?"

"I believe that is what the word means, Sir."

"You say that Mustang has actually a father? For real?"

"What did you expect Fullmetal? That I was born in a cabbage? Or simply appeared into existence?"

Roy's appearance had his five soldiers visibly blanching and ducking out of harm's way, not altogether a reassuring sight. Being the fearless airhead he was, Edward didn't take it at heart and turned to face his Colonel with curiosity.

"Well no, duh! I knew that you had a mother of course, but everybody's always calling you a bastard so..."

Ed was rudely interrupted by a loud whimper that sounded awfully like Riza's. He turned to glare at her and so missed the twitching of a dark eyebrow. What saved his life was the shouted "Duck!" from Fury. His well trained body reacted even before his mind had registered the warning and it was good because Roy seemed out for a snapping rampage. While evading bursts of flames coming at him at random, Ed began to understand how office and subordinates had ended in such a poor state. Roy had finally snapped, literaly.

"THAT is what happened, Sir! Second Lieutenant Havoc made a similar comment." Farman forwarded dutifully while side-stepping crumbling plaster.

A few explosions later, Edward found himself hiding behind the remnants of a mahogany desk, side by side with Havoc who seemed to have been awaken from his daze by all the excitement and continued the retelling of the morning events.

"I didn't know he would get all mad about that. You call him a bastard all the time. But if you think it is bad now, you should have seen him when his parents were still here. His Mom took my cigarettes away, said they were bad for my health. Crazy woman! She was all over Breda and Fury, saying they were fine specimen, cooing and hugging them. That made the Colonel twitchy but when he lost it was when his old man began pawing at Riza and she tried to shoot him. He tried to fry them both and well everyone else on his way. He calmed a little only when his parents managed to escape, just before you came in."

The desk protecting them suddenly dissolved in ashes and Ed made a dash for the door. He didn't stop running before having cleared the Headquarters entryway by a good mile. When he finally stopped, he put his hands on his knees and took long calming breaths.

So there were actually worse perverts than the bast... huh... shit Colonel and they were his own parents. It figures. That was fortunate the man was banging Edward. With such things running in the family it was a small blessing that he didn't plan to breed.

_Afterwords: This one is dedicated to my lj pal jadedsilk and it is a running joke between us. We noticed that for all the people in Amestris calling Roy a bastard, there is no proof that he is one. We wondered what Mrs Mustang thought about all that and founded a club to defend her morality. _


	3. About Blonds

This fic should have been a drabble in my Misconceptions series. I got a little carried away, but at least it is still crack and there is still a part about misconceptions... Anyway, hope you will like it and if you find the fic confusing, it is normal. So, to answer possible further questions, yes the characters are still who they are and yes they are also the actors of the tv show FMA and no there is no other reasons for that than I feeling like it.

TITLE: **Misconceptions About Blonds**

FANDOM: Fullmetal Alchemist

PAIRING: None really but many hints

GENRE: Crack

RATING: PG-13 I guess --

WARNING: yaoi, bad humor, slight language, vague sexual references, spoilers throughout the series and manga

DISCLAIMER: Nor Fullmetal nor its characters are mine, no money is being made here so don't sue or whatever.

SUMMARY: Report from the Audience has come and Roy is brooding. Breda tries to cheer him up.

When Breda came strolling into the office, he expected to find it empty, as it was well past working hours. He was grumbling to himself, annoyed for having to come back to fetch his forgotten wallet. He spent enough time at HQ already without wanting to hang out here outside of his shift. That couldn't be helped; he might need his wallet during the week-end.

What he hadn't expected to find was his Colonel sitting limp at Hawkeye's desk and nursing a glass of what looked like bourbon in trembling hands. Breda contemplated backtracking fast: he could always pretend he hadn't seen his superior officer in obvious distress. That was the kind of situation he loathed, he was so i not /i equipped to lend a sympathetic ear to others' problems.

Whiny people gave him the runs and he knew that Mustang whined with the same flourish he did everything else. Surely, there were people out there much more suited to be the man's confident. Yeah sure! Not his problem! He would creep back silently, none the wiser and he could always stop by the dorms on his way home to tap Farman some money for the week-end. And Mustang would stay here... alone... drinking and despairing...

Breda barely stifled a groan. As infuriating as the Colonel could be, he was still part of the team. Hell, he was the team! Mustang had no one else but him right now and for all his calculated indifference, the red-haired couldn't ever leave a man down. With a wary sigh and a slump of his shoulders, he entered the office signaling his presence with heavy footsteps.

Roy lifted his head from a sheet of paper he had been absently staring at. Seeing his subordinate standing a few feet from his desk he straightened awkwardly and gave a little smile. This one was pitiful, oddly out of place on the usually smirking lips. Breda was hard-pressed not to sigh once again. The bastard looked even worse up close and the improvised cheering team didnt't feel up to par.

"Good evening Colonel."

"Heymans! What a pleasant surprise! You will join me for a drink, of course!"

Of course... As if he had a choice. His conscience wouldn't let him rest if he abandoned Mustang to his lonely drinking. Anyway, the man had already pushed an empty glass toward him. Breda dragged a chair and sat in front of the Colonel while the other filled his glass. The man had called him Heymans. Did that mean they were on first name basis here? Should he called the man Roy? Was it the sympathetic thing to do in such a situation? Was that a way to ease them into friendly male bonding that would make confessions easier? Breda cursed himself for the nth time, he really had no idea how these things worked.

"Err... You're here late tonight, Col... Anything in particular keeping you busy?" The Second Lieutenant coughed a little to hide the slip in addressing Mustang. He prayed the man would give him some tip regarding this matter as he didn't want to appear disrespectful nor uncaring.

"Nah! It's nothing you should concern yourself about. You're not drinking. Don't you like bourbon? It is a really fine brand, I don't drink cheap things. What are you waiting for. Drink! You wouldn't want to insult me, would you?"

Heymans gulped at the reprimand and seized the glass eagerly, making the amber liquid pitch dangerously close to the edge. He calmed his nerves before it had the time to spill and took a careful sip. He had nothing against bourbon, but he didn't want to drink all that much. Chances were he would have a big enough headache, when the conversation was over, to risk worsening it with alcohol abuse. Still, he couldn't brush off the Colonel as it wouldn't do to piss him off when he was already in a bad mood. Mustang's hands were bare and the gloves were nowhere in sight, but one was never too careful.

Mustang was studying him carefully, with the fixated attention that only the drunk or the insane could pull off. After a long uncomfortable while, he appeared placated by Breda's willingness to drink and turned his attention back to staring at the paper on the desk. Now that he was close enough, Heymans tried and see what had the Colonel so interested. He couldn't really read it upside down, not without being obvious, but he recognized the heading. It was from the production, a circular by the look of it. Did they plan a reduction in staff or something?

"I am a good officer, aren't I Lieutenant? I am a worthy leader. My subordinates respect me. They worship me even, don't they?"

"Huh? Sure... I mean, of course, Sir! You are the best that happened to the Military, Sir!"

That was it, the man had been fired. How was that even possible? And what could he do about that? The Colonel could be a pain sometimes, but he was a good officer, the better he had ever worked under. While he was distracted, Mustang's shoulders had slumped lower and he had groaned self-depreciatingly.

"That's what I thought. So, that's not the problem. Yet, I am handsome, there is no denying it. Women are crawling at my feet. They would do anything for a minute of my time. And the men... the men hate me, they are insanely jealous of my good looks. That had to be something! I am handsome, aren't I?"

Breda had started at the sudden outburst. Now he stared... and stared.

"Well...?"

Mustang didn't really expect an answer, did he? What was he supposed to say exactly? 'Yes, Roy you are one sexy piece of ass, I want to bear your babies?' He didn't care what Mustang looked like, he was a man for fuck's sake! It wasn't like he had anything to compare with. He wasn't in the habit of oggling other males and least of all his superior officers.

His thoughts were all in a jumble and even with the better will in the world, he couldn't utter a single word. Then, he saw the little light the one-sided argument had put in Mustang's eyes flicker and die and he felt guilty. He really sucked at this cheering thing, but he was all the Colonel had right now and if the man needed to hear his male subordinate tell him he was handsome, that is exactly what the man would get.

"You are a really handsome man, Sir!"

"Really? You're not humoring me?"

There was such hope in the suddenly upturned face it was creepy. Next thing he knew the Colonel would give him puppy eyes.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Sir. You really are handsome. Everybody knows that. I would have to be blind to not see it. You're probably the most handsome man in the whole cast..."

The hopeful expression that had been slowly creeping on Mustang's face was abruptly squashed by his last statement. Roy slumped once more with a noise that sounded awfully like a sob. What now? What did he do? Surely there was nothing in what he said that warranted such a reaction. He had told the man he was handsome so what was the problem?

"Am not! Viewers prefer blonds."

There was a defeated sigh, then nothing but silence. Mustang was crumbled upon himself and staring blankly at his hands folded in his lap. He wasn't even interested in his drink anymore. Breda was trying to puzzle that but for all his well-known genius, he was at a loss. Then, he remembered the circular Roy had been staring at and seeing the man seemed now uninterested, he grabbed the sheet of paper. He went through the text quickly and groaned in dismay.

**That** was what had the Colonel's nerves in a bunch? Humpf... that figured! How vain one could be? At least, now it wasn't about comfort anymore. Now, Heymans had just to convince Roy he was being stupid. That was like the strategical games he enjoyed, he would have to move his arguments forward as if they were pawns and try to back the king of stupidity into a corner.

Yes, he respected his commanding officer and was even ready to comfort him if the man suffered. He still thought the man was an arrogant prick most of the time and was never far behind Havoc when there was an occasion to humiliate the bastard. That wasn't good or bad from him, it was just the dynamics of their team: united in adversity, unforgiving the rest of the time. He would put Mustang's fears to rest, because a depressive leader was useless, but he would have fun doing it.

"So the Audience thought our blonds are sexy, so what? That's not the end of the world, they didn't say you weren't sexy just that they are sexier..."

That may have been a little mean, at least if the disheartened groan coming from Roy was any indication. Still, it was fun to tease him. The man had an ego the size of Amestris, that was good that for once he was bested in something. Now, to find yet more creative ways to pretend to cheer him up while humiliating him more.

"Don't be so down! If your adoring fans don't fall for your looks anymore, you still have your brains, Sir. After all it is well-known that blonds are dumb."

That granted him a reaction. Mustang's head suddenly snapped up and he gave his red-haired subordinate a disbelieving look.

"Are you nuts Breda? Have you ever had a conversation with any of the blonds we're talking about? The Elric brothers are freaking encyclopedias and the Tringham ones are almost as bad."

"Well there's still Havoc. He's not that smart."

"Oh yes thank you that makes me feel so much better. I am smarter than one of the blonds among all they are in the cast."

"If we count the women, you might be smarter than Winry and Riza."

Roy had a full body shudder that was on the edge of a seizure and threw frightened glances around as if searching possible on-lookers.

"Be my guest and tell them then! I won't be held accountable when they torture you to death."

Breda heed the unvoiced advice and moved on. It wouldn't do to depreciate the two blond Valkyries even where no one was listening. Hawkeye for one had the uncanny ability to always know what her staff was up to and while he didn't know Miss Rockbell that well, he knew that Ed feared her, which was enough of a reason to be wary of her. Moreover, there was still more fun to have.

"There is one blond that was clearly stated as being less sexy than you, Sir..." The Second Lieutenant held a careful pause to draw Roy's attention and when he had it, dropped the bomb with an inward snicker. "Hoenheim Elric!"

"I hope so! The geezer is decaying, for God's sake! Literally. There shouldn't even be comparison! Yet, there are fans who write porn about him, when they should be writing about me. If they want a father figure fucking Ed, I am so much more suited!"

The Colonel looked like he had swallowed a lemon and Breda was evilly enjoying himself. Thoughts of ranks and the respect which should be due to his leader had all but flew with the flow of arguing. That wasn't everyday you could see Mustang all flustered.

"I don't know about that. I think he is kinda cool, as an older version of Ed and you have to recognize that Edward is gorgeous. Hell, he is not the main character for nothing."

"Yeah, yeah Fullmetal is hot alright. That doesn't mean that his old man is. It is every bit as ridiculous as to think Hughes would marry a woman looking like Gracia if we really have been sleeping together at some point."

"Well... Mrs Hughes is a pretty lady."

Roy snorted inelegantly and slumped on the desk, putting his chin on his crossed arms. He threw an accusatory glance to the plump soldier, as if he had anything to do with his predicament.

"Dumped. Me! Dumped for a blond! How could the scriptwriters be so mean?"

"Mrs Hughes isn't really blond, Colonel." Breda argued as if that changed anything and for all he knew of his superior's deranged psyche, it might. He also wisely passed on the fact that Roy was behaving like he had been dumped in real life and not in a TV show. Some things were better left unchallenged.

"She's more blond than not! Honestly, I really can't see what they find so hot with those blonds. I shall concede for Ed; the kid is the poster child for rape, but the others... that's nonsense!"

"The Tringham kid is not bad. I think ladies must like the bangs in his face. It gives him some mysterious charm."

"Mysterious charm? Russel? Are you kidding? He wear suspenders! Do you know anything that is more uncool? No! Don't answer that! That would be the ridiculous hat his little brother wear."

"You're right, Sir. That's really a wonder how the Audience could vote those losers as being sexier than you."

The Second Lieutenant harbored a suitably puzzled expression. Inwardly, he was laughing madly. If he had known the man would be so much fun while ranting, he would have teased him ages ago. Pity that Jean wasn't here to see that, his friend would never believe him.

"Did you see that even Al has more fans than myself? There are people out there that write fictions where he has sex. They don't even know how he looks like! They only ever saw him as a kid or in the armor and yet they have the guts to say he is sexier than I! Ah they should see him when we're off set! If only there was a way to show the viewers his little skin condition when he looses the armor..."

"While we're on the matter of skin, what do they think about Scar?"

Breda had had ample time to note every bit of the report and so knew perfectly what the vote was in this regards, but it was so much fun seeing Roy squirm. He mentally decked the little angel on his right shoulder and high-fived the devil who was grinning proudly on the left one.

"You wouldn't believe it! They think this scarred lumberjack is hotter than hell. For God's sake! He has the delicacy of a bulldozer. All brawn and no brains! I would like to see him in a bedroom; he wouldn't know how to treat a lover properly. Even Lust chose his brother over him and the guy was ugly and insane."

"You know what Colonel, I really don't think it is a matter of you against all the blonds. The cast is just this way. Every dark-haired actor seemed to be at a disadvantage here. Take the women for example. In the busty category, we have Lust against Psyren. The episode in Aquroya was one of the most successful and the production is talking about making a sequel, maybe even a spin-off. Meanwhile, Lust's role is going to be suppressed 'cause she bores the viewers now that she isn't totally evil anymore..."

Mustang had perked up and looked enraptured by Breda's explanation. He seemed to ponder the follow-up on his own. After a moment of reflexion he was the one to pursue.

"The flat-chested ones aren't better: Winry versus Lyra. The comparison is fatally cruel. The designer has Winry strutting about in barely decent clothes while Lyra is hunched up in an outdated outfit that makes her look like she has zero fashion sense."

"Yet, they put her in a french maid's outfit a while ago."

"Yeah, but that was last season and the skirt was too long anyway."

"True enough. The mother figures are even worse I think. Riza is always in uniform and do we know women in uniform are hot." They exchanged knowing smirks and dreamy looks before Heymans resumed with his argument. "Against that, they put Mrs Curtis... I respect the woman but..."

"...but she is a violent and wrinkled countrywoman who constantly coughs and spits blood. Kinda repulsive."

"Now that I think about it, there is as much blond as dark-haired actresses, but on the male side, you are sadly outnumbered."

"Of course we are! The production hates us. They never want to heed our demands and now look at that: with Greed and Hughes dying last season, who does that leave? And don't count Kimblee, he whined for an augmentation and they threatened to cut his part. I don't think we will see much of him next year. That leaves ... Fury ... Bradley ... Sieg... and myself. That sure isn't much."

"Fury is cute in a way... I guess, but you see my point, Sir. It is not that you aren't sexy it is just that you are the only one worth noticing against a band of blonds. The odds are against you."

At these words, Roy straightened while a determined look descended upon his admittedly handsome features. All traces of the desperate drunk man vanished and in his stead, stood –or actually sat, but you get my point- the Flame Alchemist in all his glory. Breda was almost sad to see the game end but, alas, he would need his leader functional sooner or later and cheering Mustang had been his goal after all.

"You are right, Heymans! It is obvious that this is a case of discrimination here. I am hot! I am an amazing being unfairly thrown to the lions by an unscrupulous production. It is also the fault of Hughes and Greed. If they haven't been so bitchy and demanding, I wouldn't find myself alone to defend the ship..."

The tirade could probably have gone on for a while if a not so discreet cough hadn't broken the Colonel's momentum. The two soldiers turned to the door to see who had the galls to interrupt them. In the threshold, stood a young man poised with confidence. He had long dark hair tied in a ponytail, chiseled features and gleaming eyes half closed to compliment the dazzling smile that adorned his face. His appearance and clothes were markedly Xingian and he held an aura of power and wealth even behind the affected good-heartedness. He was also terribly handsome.

"I am heartfeltly sorry to incommode you, kind Sirs. I couldn't help but hear your conversation and I thought it was time for me to make my entrance."

The young stranger marked a carefully studied pause and made a grand gesture with his arms like a king dispensing his blessings upon a crowd. The red-haired soldier had to quell the urge to stand and bow for no apparent reason. A rapid glance to the Colonel suggested it would be a bad idea as the man looked annoyed by the visitor who had so rudely intrude upon them.

"I am Ling, I will work with you lot from now on. I was chosen to act the Xingian Prince who, as you may know, was an only manga character as of now. I am pleased to meet you and I am sure we will do wonders together."

The last words were uttered while looking solely at Roy, eyes now wide open and shining with malice. Mustang appeared stunned for all of two breaths before his face took on a calculating frown. Soon, a blinding smile crept on his lips. Then, he stood and walked towards Ling opening his arms wide in welcome.

"Prince Ling it is an honor to count you amongst us. We will no doubt work greatly together. If I may say so, I think you have really luscious hair."

"You may, you may, Colonel. I am told it is really soft as well but yours is as magnificent as mine. You could be Xingian yourself, you have this kind of dark and delicate beauty that my people have."

"My, but thank you my friend. I am grateful that someone else is able to appreciate the greatness of my looks. We both are such spicy things, nothing to compare with those dull blonds that seem to attract all the attention nowadays."

"I second that. We should demand to be put on display on satin sheets for the world to wallowed in our splendor."

"We sure would be a sight to behold, both of us naked and entwined on crimson satin. You seem to read my mind. What indeed could be better than one spicy thing if not two spicy things writhing in unison."

The two men were now facing each other, less than three feet apart, holding hands and both harboring the contented expression of the cat that got the cream. Breda stared dismayed. He idly wondered if it would be worth telling them that the show had a PG rating and as such nudity was totally out of the question. They were still patting themselves on the back and appeared to have forgotten all about him. Seizing the occasion, the red-haired beat a hasty retreat, barely remembering to grab his wallet on his way out.

Once in the corridor, he leaned briefly on the wall and let out a relieved sigh. All in all, he had it easier than he first feared even if he was still glad to have made good on his escape. He was still hearing their voices through the open door and had a violent shudder when they began to talk about what they liked to do to the Fullmetal Alchemist in retaliation for the favoritism the production bathed the blonds of the cast in. He guessed he should warn the kid than thought better of it. Edward in full rant mode was even worse than the Colonel and he had had his dose of whiny people for a long time to come.

There was a loud exclamation that sounded like: "We shall prevail!" and Heymans shrugged. Actors were really crazy people and he considered momentarily a change of career. He pondered for a while then shook himself and walked away. It was a crazy job yes but where else would he have so much fun?

_Afterwords: I know the misconceptions are a little confusing here. Originally I wanted to defeat the purpose of the blond jokes and mess it up with the all favorite "Men prefer blonds" from the movie with the delicious Marilyn. I sort of went astray after that so bear with me. I went with the false assumption that all characters are hot and tried to prove they weren't -especially the acclaimed Roy- to an extent. _


	4. About Kissing

TITLE: **Misconceptions About Kissing**

FANDOM: Fullmetal Alchemist

PAIRING: Ed/Roy

GENRE: Crack

RATING: PG I guess

WARNING: yaoi, spoilers for the end of series, language, deathfic (not the sad kind), unjust mistreatment of anime characters, awful puns and just plain meanness all around

DISCLAIMER: Nor FMA nor its characters are mine and this story's only done in good fun so don't sue or whatever.

SUMMARY: "The Colonel is old, shock can't be good for him. He might have had an heart attack."

In the years following King Bradley's demise, Roy Mustang had grown into an especially nasty persona. Having been robbed of his aspirations to become Fuhrer had dealt his ego a severe blow. He had taken on drinking at some point and harbored now a slight plumpness. That, in addition to his missing eye and the puffiness alcohol had put on his face left him short on girlfriends. Charisma wrinkled and character soured, he had worn out all but his more faithful followers who themselves didn't stay out of anything but habit and a wary sense of duty.

On the day these events took place, Roy Mustang was in an even fouler mood than ordinary. The man had caught a bad cold and had already gone through two boxes of tissues by noon. His subordinates weren't particularly sympathetic and were instead making fun of his unusually nasal voice. It was just after lunchtime when Fullmetal came barging in. That wasn't unusual per se nor were the following argument and exchange of insults. Thus, no one was surprised to see Ed launched himself at Mustang after a particularly depreciating jibe. However, the Fullmetal kissing the man instead of hitting him was an oddity.

Once the shock wore off, everyone closed in on the unlikely pair, not to intervene mind you, but to watch the impromptu show from a better angle. The Flame Alchemist was struggling madly even managing to place a few kicks. What a shame he didn't realize in his panic that he was kicking the metal leg. Ed had him backed up against his desk, both flailing hands gathered in the automail one while the flesh one held him firmly by his nape. If the young man had already been strong as a kid, now that he was all grown up, in every sense of the word, Mustang didn't stand a chance.

The gawkers were quietly commenting on the spectacle, helpfully pointing the finer details to those who couldn't find a good seat. After a while Roy appeared to give in and the struggles weakened before stopping altogether. At that point Edward finally let him go and gave him a little space ready to launch back on the argument now that the Flame Alchemist had successfully been silenced. Nobody expected Mustang to crumble on the floor in an ungraceful hump.

There was a moment of silence while everyone seemed to wait for the other shoe to drop, then Edward nudged the limp form with the toe of one boot. Mustang stayed still and the young man appeared vaguely concerned.

"Oi Bastard, you okay?"

There was no answer and everybody inched forward to have a proper look. Fullmetal looked annoyed and crossed his arms while a stubborn expression darkened his features.

"That's enough. I know what you want but I won't come close enough for you to bash my face in."

"Maybe he fainted..."

That came from Farman and held more boredom than any hint of worry. He didn't either come closer to confirm the suspicion. A little further, Breda who was slouched on a chair in his traditional lazy fashion, gave his two cents.

"I say he's faking. Ed can't possibly be that good."

"Maybe not but the Colonel is old, shock can't be good for him. He might have had an heart attack."

"Don't be stupid Al. Of course the bastard's fine. He's just playing us. As if I'd fall for that."

Ed snorted to punctuate his comment when Fury's lilting voice piped in rather fearfully.

"Are you sure Edward, he looks kinda blue... and stiff..."

"What? Elric gave him a boner?"

Everyone turned toward Hawkeye somewhat astonished. Nobody had ever heard the composed Riza speak in such a language. They would also have expected a more frantic reaction when confronted with such a scene. Looked like her beloved Colonel had worn out even her seemingly unshakeable loyalty and everybody knows that "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned". She gave them all a blank look and they returned to their contemplation while Fury took the time to dissipate the misunderstanding.

"I meant he is awfully still. I'm not sure he's breathing."

Ed finally knelt near the fallen alchemist with a closed up expression which might have passed for worry but was more believably irritation. He poked him a few times just to be sure the bastard wasn't planning to spring up and attack him. He waved his flesh hand over Roy's mouth, studying his face distrustfully.

"You're right, he's not breathing. Guess he's dead."

"Brother, you can't say something like that. You should try to revive him."

Ed glanced disbelievingly at his sibling.

"Hell no!"

"What's a little mouth-to-mouth when you were tonguing his tonsils not ten minutes ago?"

Breda supplied helpfully.

"That was then, this is now. I was just trying to make him shut up. That's completely different. And there was no tongue, no tongue at all."

"If you say so..."

Thay all exchanged meaningful glances before returning to the matter at hand. If not Edward, someone else would have to volunteer and no one was exactly fighting for the privilege. Some time passed but no one had stepped forward yet, not even Riza. Finally, it was Farman who resolved the issue with a dismissive shrug.

"Anyway, if he is really not breathing, that has already been too long for us to do anything for him. He's dead."

They did the expected quiet minute, all obviously not very sad or contrite but eager to be done with it.

"Well Ed you have to be one Helluva kisser! You quite literally took his breath away."

Havoc was grinning madly at his bad pun and the others gave into a few chuckles before going their separate ways. They had to deal with all the red tape, the death of an officer was a serious matter after all.

And so it came to pass that Roy Mustang finally succumbed under the assaults of Edward Elric, even if no one had foreseen the particularities of this unsurprising outcome. Nonetheless, it was somewhat fitting for one who was once such a ladykiller to die asphyxiated in a kiss.

The following day, Central's newspaper titled "The Flame Alchemist, Kissed In Action". When questioned, the editor swore that it had just been an unfortunate misspelling, but everybody at Headquarters was wondering who had beaten them to the punch in leaking the info.

Edward, bedridden by the same nasty bug who had plagued the Colonel's last days, was unfortunately unable to attend Roy's funerals. He missed out on a grand affair but had many people to relate him the play by play later on as there was an impressive crowd attending. This exceptional attendance wasn't unexpected as the Flame Alchemist had grown quite infamous in his last years. The man had had more than his share of enemies and many wanted to confirm with their own eyes that the bastard was really done for the count.

Thanks to the newspapers and unscrupulous military gossip-mongers the rumor of Mustang's last fatal misadventure had spread wide. There were many an ex-girlfriend kissing the marble to make sure Roy would stay put while even more men who had at one point been oned up by the bastard snickered irreverently. The ground was covered in gay feathers, baby's breaths, love lies bleeding, feverfews, loose strifes or any other flowers the name could be played with among the more traditional forget-me-not.

The only disruption of the otherwise pleasant afternoon came in the person of Riza Hawkeye cocking her gun to stop people from carving the now famous "KIA" on the gravestone. The dignified woman had eventually been guilt-stricken and was only trying to make amends to her beloved leader. Fortunately, Havoc was there to dissipate her misgivings with a few reminders of the most unpleasant occurrences in the Colonel's and her relationship.

All in all it was the most hilarious funerals Central had ever seen. Many puns and mock epitaphs written on this day would be remembered long past. For all and every purposes, Roy Mustang was now immortal in Amestris memories as he had wanted all along. However, he might not have foreseen it would be as the butt of a bad joke. What ego does my friends... what ego does...

_Afterwords: Just wanted to rant about yet another one of my pet peeves. I guess I read something along the lines of "they stopped kissing only once the need for air grew urgent" once too many times. I remember having participated in "longest french kiss" contests in my young years and didn't ever see anyone dying from lack of oxygen. -- In the worst case your jaw's aching, but that's it. Anybody heard of breathing through the nose?_


End file.
